


What Long Teeth You Have

by bunnystealsyourcarrots



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Be careful who you take home, Death, F/M, Fingering, Horror-ish, I thought I'd warn you too that there is glitter in this fic since glitter gets Everywhere, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, Tomione Smut Fest 2020, Voyeurism, Werewolf, Werewolf AU, light Violence, supernatural sex, tomione - Freeform, tomione au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnystealsyourcarrots/pseuds/bunnystealsyourcarrots
Summary: A cautionary tale involving clubbing and canines...(For the Tomione Smutfest 2020 prompt of Werewolf AU)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 25
Kudos: 102
Collections: Tomione Smut Fest 2020





	What Long Teeth You Have

She had coarse hair, slim legs, and eyes the color of firewhiskey with lemon.

He had a sinister stare, a shadow that loomed against the alley wall, and a muzzle caked with red.

They made quite the pair out on a Saturday night when shards of club music spilled out onto the streets; a burst of electronic sound let loose whenever the most exclusive doors in town opened to let the young and rich and beautiful come and go as they pleased. The moon hung high above them all whether they leaned on each other while laughing or stumbled away for fresh trouble, and pity for those who thought they had it all because they never once noticed syncopated steps following behind them.

_She’s beautiful, isn’t she?_

The little wolf darted ahead.

_I’ll ruin her._

_________________________

Bodies.

The floor was covered in bodies.

Their skin glistening. 

Their feet moving nonstop, and all of them in misleadingly pure white thanks to the club’s Winter Wonderland theme. In celebration of themselves, the crowd danced and drank and deliciously defiled each other. The occasional sprinkling of fake snow and glittery sequins falling from the steel rafters above helping add to the sparkly scenery before sticking to their shoulders, and the revelers couldn't believe their luck to be alive and outrageous while Hermione Granger picked at her nails in a corner booth. 

She drank vodka soda with lime.

A sensible drink for a sensible girl.

A no-frills route to rosy-cheeked tipsy, but Hermione didn’t look all that comfortably numb yet. As everyone else loosened up, the curly-haired twenty-four-year-old bucked that trend and kept fidgeting in her seat- another impatient stare tossed around the room. The friends she waited for clearly letting her down, and for the fifth time in ten minutes, a sigh puffed out her cheeks, and she tugged up her cream-colored bralette. 

She retrieved her phone from her lace skirt pocket for frowning at it and replacing it again. 

All her uncomfortable energy loudly broadcasting that she was a fluffy, put out lamb who was missing the security of her flock, but that didn’t stop a she-wolf from claiming her. 

“Alright, this is just tragic,” a willowy redhead sang out, dramatically dropping into Hermione’s booth. She wiggled across the vinyl in her skintight dress. Her strawberry-colored, pin-straight hair flicked off her shoulders once she got settled. The air of confidence around her only slightly thicker than the twang in her Essex accent, and she used both to great effect while dumping out her Chanel clutch onto the tabletop to scrounge around for an electric cigarette. “Where’s the asshole?”

A bewildered Hermione leaned away. “What asshole?”

“The horrible asshole who left you looking like a sad, sour puss

“Hey, now!” Hermione choked out, her dark eyebrows mashed together. “I’m not a sad, sour puss.”

The redhead let out a laugh. “It’s more convincing if you uncross your arms.”

A quick peek down confirmed that Hermione’s arms were indeed as crossed as any two arms have ever crossed over a chest, and she dropped her righteous indignation and picked up a sheepish smile. “Point made.”

“See,” the redhead winked, snapped her fingers for a waitress, “now you just look like hot puss.”

___________________________

At one shot of tequila, Hermione mentioned that she was a teacher. 

A teacher who definitely did not do body shots, but thanks anyway.

By the end of a pear cider, Hermione had come to realize that her colorful companion was twenty-three and prone to loudly over-emphasizing f words like fabulous, fantastic, and fuck. She’d grab Hermione’s arm for added impact, the middle of her aristocratic nose adorably crinkling with amusement whenever she'd startle Hermione because she was someone who lived for getting a rise out of someone- causing an event. A whirling, exciting storm in human-form with stories as over the top as she was, and Hermione couldn't decide if she preferred the company to solitary sulking. However, she nodded her head yes to the offer of another round of drinks.

Why stop somebody else from spending money on her?

By the second shot of tequila, Hermione had warmed up considerably to her new friend, who had shared her preferred brand of condoms and cosmos but not her name.

“Oh, it’s Alecto,” the redhead drawled, raising her glass. “It’s Greek and means my mother was heavily medicated when she named me.” 

Hermione laughed.

Alecto laughed harder.

"I have a brother named Amycus too."

"No!"

"Mmhmm, old money and bad ideas are best friends." 

A pulse of neon-green light fanned across the room, and when it passed overhead, Hermione’s breath hitched in her throat. She told herself the heat must be getting to her. That the booze on top wasn’t helping matters if she swore that Alecto’s face had inclined towards the light at an unnatural angle. Her canines prominent when she threw her head back for another barking laugh. Her hazel eyes taking on a yellow hue, and Hermione picked up a cocktail napkin to blot her dewy skin. 

_Why is this muggy air thick enough to cut into during February?_

_Why is damp hair still touching my back?_

It was so maddeningly, suppressively hot. Even the bones beneath Hermione's skin seemed to shudder and beg for an escape from her skin when beads of sweat kept dribbling down her back. The moisture weighing down her hair until she pictured shaving it off, and since shucking off her skirt was out of the question when she hadn't worn anything underneath, she controlled what she could. In a fit of self-preservation, Hermione dug through the emptied purse contents on the table until she found an elastic. She gathered her hair up, and oblivious to Hermione’s growing discomfort Alecto carried on inquiring about Hermione’s upbringing between bites of maraschino cherry. The ruby juice loudly licked off her fingers while Hermione frantically combed up loose ringlets and distractedly nodded her head.

“They were dentists,” she shouted over the music again, and her mouth puckered into a satisfied O when a cool burst of air conditioning finally kissed her neck. Her back arching into it, tits pushed up when she sighed and made eye contact with someone tall and interested walking by.

He did a double-take. 

A slow sweep of consideration down her form. 

An eyebrow raising suggestively towards the empty spot beside Hermione after he’d seen whatever he needed to see to change his former plans for the night, and Hermione’s shoulder subtly lifted in response. A sure why not. A come on over to a ridiculously attractive man who made her feel awfully grateful that she didn’t have any fabric between her thighs, and seemingly on the same page, Alecto walked her fingers up Hermione’s arm. 

“Oh, you just know that this one’ll be hard and then hard to get over,” she whispered, and Hermione’s eyes were round when he stopped in front of the table.

“Hi, I’m Tom. Mind if I join you two?”

  
  


_________________________________

Tom worked in marketing.

Tom worked the hell out of a dimpled smile.

The flickering club lights unfairly contouring his already fine features, and, thankfully, he couldn’t hear Hermione obsessing over the sharp angles of his high cheekbones or the curves of his full lips. The way a rakish raven-colored curl fell over his eyebrow when he leaned in to share in his husky voice that he’d come out with friends- but as they’re mindless idiots anyway- he was down for making new friends if they were feeling charitable. For putting up with his miserable company, he promised with a toothy grin to buy another round of whatever they were drinking plus humbly offer his services of scaring away anyone who needed scaring away. 

“That is,” Tom added, feigning a serious expression, “if you don’t mind sitting with someone who has absolutely no fucking clue who the DJ is.” 

“He’s trash anyway,” Alecto chimed in.

A more than a little buzzed Hermione couldn’t recall her original opinion on the music. How she made it to the club was kind of sketchy too, but she knew with absolute clarity that she’d agree with almost anything he said if it meant she could keep stealing glances at Tom over the rim of her drink, marvel at his long fingers that pushed through hair that was tousled on top and neatly shaved on the sides in a style that wouldn’t have looked out of place fifty years back.

She wondered if he’d let her muss it up.

If he’d stop her fingers from lowering from the strands to cradle his jaw when she gave in to her baser instincts and crawled into his lap, hugged his hips with her knees. 

The straps of his loose-fit tank top pulled aside, her nails skimming back to the base of his skull. A teasing exhale of his name breathed over his lips before she shamelessly acquainted the tip of her tongue with the smattering of freckles dusted across his muscular shoulders until he promised to take her home with him.

A wash of color stained Hermione’s cheeks once she snapped out of her horny haze and realized that Tom was expectantly staring at her- had likely been that way for ages while she mentally ravished him. ”Oh...yeah, erm,” she awkwardly laughed. “You can stay- and the DJ’s wretched.”

His lips twitched. “So, you’re positive that this music isn’t actually sacred to you, and that I haven’t gone and slighted one of my new best friends by failing to adequately worship it?” 

“Yes,” Hermione stressed, rolling her eyes. “I’m _positive_ , and you are welcome to hang out with us even if I’m bloody absurd and boozy right now.”

“Good,” Tom’s lips pulled to one side, head tilting as he considered her for a beat longer before leaning back in the booth and unleashing a slow grin. “I’ll take chaotic company over boring any day.”

________________________________

For the next hour, Alecto and Tom pounded back whiskey gingers.

Hermione stuck with water. She’d need a clear head around Tom.

He’d need to avoid resting his hand on her thigh again unless he planned to never let go.

_______________________________

A man of his word, Tom did consistently divert unwanted men away from the table; he didn't puff out his chest or run his mouth whenever someone braved walking up to them. He didn't bask in entitlement and throw around ownership of the women and their attentions either. As if his congeniality were a mask easily worn and taken off, the charm in him simply went out like a flame in the rain. 

A cold, condescending look from him proving potent enough to send approaching sleazebags scurrying away.

As quickly as they came, they'd submit to the obvious alpha male at the table. A cheesy pickup line saved for the next women out of their league and Tom would turn back to Alecto and Hermione. A witty quip lightening the mood again, his tattooed arm stretching along the back of the booth to comfortably rest again behind Hermione, and what had they ever done without him?

___________________________________

  
  


A shot with five liquors called The Green Snake eventually convinced the tipsy trio to dance.

In survival mode through a crowd, they joined hands. They linked together with fingers and flirty glances over their shoulders. A call out of a name with a laugh, but once they'd found enough room to move, still nobody let go. They kept holding on to each other. The bass-heavy music driving their heartbeats and feet faster and faster until Alecto took the initiative that they were all thinking about. She molded her front to Hermione’s back. Pressed her breasts against Hermione's spine, gripped her by the ponytail. A sharp tug leading the dance into a mix of worshipping and punishing sensations and Hermione leaned into it.

The thrill of it. 

The rightness and wrongness of putting on a show. 

Hips rocking in tandem as they stared at Tom, at him watching them. Two moving as one but three was anything but a crowd when Tom draped his arms over Hermione's shoulders. His forehead resting against hers. Hard exhales warm on her lips as they danced and danced, and how had they stayed apart for so long?

“I don’t normally do this,” she swallowed, looking up incredulously, “whatever this is.”

“I believe it,” Tom nodded, licked his lips, “but that’s the fun part, isn’t it?”

“It could also end badly.”

“Well,” he smirked, his fingers tracing frisky circles at the nape of her neck, “a bad idea can be fun for a while too.”

A few particularly naughty ideas worth trying sprung to Hermione’s mind, but she shrugged. He was already too sure about himself, too confident for her to indulge every cheeky comment with an excited blush. For a shot of staying on somewhat equal footing with someone towering over her, she’d have to humble him when given the opportunity. 

So, she tipped her chin up, unlocked their stares.

The music, and feeling the music humming through their close bodies, stealing Hermione’s attention again. The night far exceeding her expectations, and then white flurries descended from above. They’d all joked earlier about glitter being a curse that never goes away, but her mouth hung in awe when silver and white shook from the sky. The specks of iridescent annoyance sticking to her hair, her skin. A bit of rainbow left behind on Hermione’s cheek for Tom to brush off with a sweeping arch of his thumb before he ducked his head down and kissed her, pulled away and breathily asked her if she liked that.

She did.

Gods, did she.

_____________________________________

“He wants you,” Aleco slurred, watched her hand remain steady for a couple of seconds before she slicked on lipstick in the lady's room. “If I were you,” she smacked her lips, rubbed off the color at the corners with her thumb, “I’d fuck him four ways from Sunday before someone else does.”

At the next sink over, Hermione ran the tap.

She turned the water to ice cold.

A splash of sense sorely needed against her heated skin, and after patting her throat and face dry with a napkin, Hermione gripped the sink. “Hmm,” she leaned forward, unkindly eyed her reflection in the mirror, “it kind of seems like he’s more interested in the chance of shagging us both.”

Alecto recapped her lipstick. “What man wouldn’t be.” 

“You’d want that?”

“Why not?” Alecto’s eyebrows raised. “You’re both fit, and I like to watch people who like each other do it.”

“I don’t like him,” Hermione scoffed. “He’s just nice.”

“He’s not _nice_ , Hermione,” Alecto groaned, tossing her lipstick back into her purse. “We barely know anything about him other than he’s successful and sexually forward, but look at you filling in the blanks on him because you want him to fill you.”

“Ugh, gross.”

“It’s the most natural thing in the world to hunt and be hunted.” Alecto laughed. “Go on, admit you want him to spear you.”

“I’m not anyone’s prey,” Hermione dismissively sniffed, pushed the back of her hand over her mouth.

“No, you’re just the girl who gabbed on and on about your favorite books from last year with him, telling him where you live with your ginger cat roommate who sheds hair everywhere and then gushing about some posh peroxide-colored prat you punched back in school.” 

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Love, if you don’t like him, you sure do give too much of yourself away too easily.”

________________________________

  
  


He was a leader, that Tom.

What he ordered, they drank.

When he spoke, they hung onto his words.

Where he went, their eyes followed.

How else could Hermione and Alecto end up uncomfortably jammed inside a photo booth? Alecto shouting at the machine to accept her tenner, Tom chuckling on the bench inside with his legs splayed wide- a woman perched on each thigh. His hand grazing Hermione’s ribs while Alecto chose the black and white backdrop, and when the countdown flashed on the screen, Tom’s touch slid up. He pushed Hermione’s bralette aside, took a nipple out of her top and into his possession. A harsh pinch for a gasp while he looked calmly ahead. Torturing with tweaks between camera snaps and smiles and Hermione squirmed back into his lap. 

Her mouth dropping in shock in the first picture, in fear of discovery in the second, and in pleasure in the third.

________________________________

If it turned out that Tom played an instrument, Hermione could see why.

His long, masculine fingers were made for plucking, for strumming, for striking.

An unknown tactile talent not hard for her to swallow when his calloused fingertips were doing a number on Hermione under the table- playing her to perfection. A stray touch from him riding higher and higher up her thigh until she thought she’d give away their secret with an obscene moan. A whimpered request to please let her come, and all why he carried on nonchalantly discussing sports cars with Alecto.

A Ferrari the furthest thing from Hermione’s mind when she had to bite down on her straw to stay quiet.

A warning glance out of the corner of her eye towards Tom revealing that he bit back a laugh.

His enjoyment of her struggle sending her lashes fluttering in exasperation, but he softly pet her in apology. In promise. Indecently.

His hand sliding over and between her thighs.

His filthy nerve flushing her skin even before he parted her pink, and her body tensed.

The feel of him in her driving her wild and wanting. Her throat bobbing when he pumped into her snatch little by little. A curl and curve in her cunt that was working her up until she suddenly felt cold pressure. 

His silver ring against her flesh clueing her in that he was knuckle-deep and she was in over her head.

____________________________

At eleven-forty five, Tom gestured the waitress over.

“It’s time to head out, right?”

“Oh, for sure,” Alecto sucked down an inhale on her electric cigarette. A lazy blow out. “It’s never a good look to linger too long.”

“You know of another spot worth popping into?” 

“Tom, I know all the best places to be.”

In their boozy bubble, the trio had failed to notice when the bar became lined with folks standing shoulder to shoulder for the bartender’s attention. Wads of cash shaking in the air along with impatient shouts, and it struck Hermione that their table never usually waited. At times, Tom barely mentioned wanting a drink, and oddly, a waitress would show up with a how-can-I-serve-you smile. How funny that the cups almost seemed to fill on their own a couple of times, but that had to be the vodka talking again.

“How about you?” Tom asked Hermione. “Do you have a coat that needs unchecking before we go?”

“No, I live close and tend to run warm.”

Tom ran his tongue over his teeth. 

“What a treat.”

A tingling sensation skipped up Hermione's spine. He looked ready to devour her, and what a way to go when Tom wore debauchery well. His skin had a sheen to it that looked ready for a lick, his sweat-dampened shirt clung to his chest muscles. In sudden comparison, Hermione felt rough and ruffled and she pushed a wayward curl behind her ear. 

“Actually, I’ll be right back.”

A quick trip to the loo later, she returned with a refreshed face and a wobble to her steps.

A sloppy little smile in place as she looked forward to Tom holding her hand on the way out of the club, but her excitement withered away into something dead in the dark after she noticed Alecto’s hand stroking his bicep. “It’s set then! You really must join me in Santorini,” Alecto cooed, squeezing his arm and ignoring Hermione walking up. “My parents have a cozy little spot there with fucking fabulous sunset views.”

“Do they?”

“Mmhmm, you and I could hop on a jet tonight.”

He pressed his lips together and then laughed. “That’s crazy.”

“So let’s go crazy.” 

She held up her phone and scrolled to the number listed Jet.

An undeniable spark of interest and anticipation brightened his eyes. 

“What do you think about that, Hermione?” he asked in a low and curious tone, finally breaking eye contact with Alecto to acknowledge Hermione's return.

What Hermione thought was that the question was cruel. Her glare flicked from Alecto to Tom, unsure what there was left to say if their minds were made up after Alecto had stabbed her in the back with a freaking jet. The chance of Hermione enticing anyone with stimulating conversation and obvious sexual chemistry paled in comparison to a free Meditteranean fuckfest, and the smugly smiling redhead damn well knew it. “Um,” she cleared her throat, absently fiddled with her thumb,” well-“

“Oh, Hermione, love,” Alecto cut her off, dripping faux-compassion and heavy condescension.“You shouldn’t pick at your nails like a child. It’s a nasty habit.”

Hermione snapped. 

A fury had ignited in her blood. 

A resolve to take what was hers and then some, and she picked up Alecto's drink. Drained the contents all in one go while eyeing Tom, and she smacked the empty glass back onto the table. 

“What I think,” she spoke solely to Tom, ignoring the other woman,” is that I live a couple of blocks away.” Hermione held out her hand to Tom.” Do you want to party?”

“Does _party_ mean doing coke, or a threesome?” He teased, maybe not.

“Does it matter?”

He made a non-committal sound, cocked his head towards Alecto. 

“Does it matter to you?” 

A high pitched nervous giggle skittered out of Alecto. She was weighing entering the lion’s den with someone who looked less like she’d want to rip her clothes off, and more like she was close to ripping her apart, but nothing was ever personal with Alecto when it came to fun. As a person of privilege, she figured that she had little to lose. If Hermione wanted to play emotional chicken- and Alecto got banged regardless- she was game too. 

“Sure....I can share a good time.”

Tom gestured for Hermione to lead the way.

____________________________

On the walk to a quieter street, they barely spoke. The sound of heels and boots on cobblestone echoed down the alley in the absence of comfortable silence. The once flirty mood between the trio turned sour and electrically charged with tension since the standoff, and when the steps behind Hermione shuffled away, she looked up at the moon for strength before glancing back. 

The unmistakable rustling of clothes and a smothered laugh signaled what she’d see. 

They’d only made it two blocks before hormones won over decency, but Hermione couldn’t help but look.

She had to see it.

That first kiss between Tom and someone else.

The bright colored nails threading through his hair as he backed Alecto up against a brick wall. The streetlights leaving them lost in shadows and sighs. A hand at her slim waist, at her perfect chin that he tipped up before his mouth slanted over hers. The world outside of their euphoric exploration forgotten to the point that they didn’t notice Hermione stalking over to them- missed her glowering and growling at their connection. 

At the intoxicating mix of arousal and anger it brought out in her when Alecto knew how Hermione felt about Tom, and she still pursued him at the first second they had alone. 

She was the aggressor. 

She was the one sighing his name in encouragement to touch her, bite her lip.

  
  


He started off slow, but what Tom’s kisses lacked in softness, they multiplied in urgency. He kissed Alecto until she thought he’d bruise her. He kissed as if that was the point. He kissed her until she turned her cheek to break away with a breathy moan, and lower and lower he went. His hands bracketing her bony shoulders, her ribs, her hips. His thumbs hooking under her skirt to push it up, and he sunk to his knees. The rush of winter air against her bare sex making her shiver, and after an approving noise, his mouth provided warmth.

A lick.

A nibble.

A hard bite.

“Ouch,” Alecto flinched, her fingers snagging in his hair. “That hurt.”

“It was supposed to,” he murmured against her flesh, lapping at her. “Right, Hermione?”

It’s funny how quickly Alecto forgot they had an audience. That’s how dominant Tom’s touch was, how overwhelming. He made everything else fade to black that wasn’t his tongue and fingers and his hunger to fuck a woman senseless. The night rendered plain and starless without him when your eyes shut in ecstasy, but Hermione watched his cheeks suck in. Her pupil’s wide. Her finger tracing along her lips, and she dipped them in when Tom bit down and made Alecto scream.

A gorgeous little shriek.

A panicked push of her hands through Tom’s hair that came out in thick tufts. The black curls lost between her fingers. His elongating skull beneath violently ripping free from his scalp to reveal bloodied fur tipped ears, and Alecto could cry and cry in frantic horror but she couldn’t get away. 

She couldn’t get the monster off of her once she’d invited him into her.

How could she possibly flee when his hands carved into her legs, her calves pinned to the wall. The extending claws from his fingers digging in until they hit bone, and human hair and shedding skin stuck to Alexto’s blood-covered thighs as everything fell off of Tom to make room for fur and fury. The beast no longer satisfied to stay hidden. His shoulders horrifically jerking up to grow and shift and crack, and the next time his meal attempted another scream, Hermione launched herself forward to grip her hand over Alecto’s mouth.

The pitiful calls for help muffled against her palm, and Hermione’s eyes gleamed. 

The walked-over woman from the club replaced with a feral femme.

Her joints twitching, her lips curling.

“Did you really think he’d want you?” Hermione hissed, her shoulder popping out of joint. “That you deserved to have him?”

A teary Alecto shook her head, thrashing in pain as Tom feasted on her cunt.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hermione mocked her, tapping the tip of her nose against her prey’s. “I shouldn’t ask questions when you’ve got your rotten little mouth covered. How can I tell if you’re lying if you can’t speak?”

Hermione relaxed her grip.

“P-please,” Alecto begged, survivalism kicking in and her exhales coming out in snowy, hard puffs between Hermione’s fingers, “make me like you. Whatever you are-”

Tom threw his head back.

His chin and throat covered in wet.

“There’s no one like us,” he sighed, and before Alecto could use her voice box to cry out again, Hermione sunk her teeth into the poor woman’s throat and ripped it out. The force of her bite receded Hermione’s lengthening incisors away from her gums. A gnash. A dripping suck. A gush of life coating her from canines to the curls now covering Hermione’s shoulders when she stopped Alecto’s heart until all that was left of the girl that they’d met in the bar was skin and bones and scraps of fabric.

A woman forgotten.

A mound of flesh to step over. 

A meal devoured from below by Tom, Hermione from above, and they met as animals in the middle. The scrappy werewolf and her muscular mate nipping at the same stretch of intestines. Their formerly white clothing from the club scattered into tatters on the ground, black tongues seeking each other out, and their moon-driven minds couldn’t summon shame or sorrow for playing so long with their food. 

It wasn’t their fault that they’d given another heartless bitch the chance to make the right choice. 

That they’d allowed her a long leash, and when she’d predictably hung herself with it, they took her fancy meat marinated with adrenaline. A last remnant of her skin dangling from Tom’s jaws, and Hermione lunged for it. Tackled him to the ground with a vicious growl, and he let the smaller wolf bite, and snarl, and win.

A messy mouthful for allowing anyone else to touch him. 

A reason to have her on top before he rolled her over, dropped his teeth into her shoulder blade. Held her down in place beneath him when he mounted his wolf, made her bleed. His massive paws scratching her hips in warning. A bark of her name ripping from his throat, and then he drove into her sex with a violent possession that they both craved. A feverish coupling made sweeter out in the open where they could be seen, admired, feared. His pretty mate dripping for him, from him. 

A powerful predator who whimpered and whined for him- who’d change back to human form halfway through taking his cock into her drenched cunt because that’s what her Tom liked. 

What could be hotter for the wolf in him than forcing his punishing red prick into her tiny, perfect pussy? Her vulnerable flesh trembling around his animalistic need. His thrusts battering her human body over and over for being so weak, and she moaned for more. Her cheek scraping against the ground. The yips and nips behind her growing in urgency, and when he spilled his seed into her slick heat, his spine shuddered. His veiny knot filling her to the point of painful pleasure, pulsing Hermione into submissive stillness. A sordid sight to be seen even before he softened minutes later, pulled out streams of affection for her, panting in her ear.

They laid curled up together.

The wolves quieted.

Their racing heartbeats slowing and Tom’s muzzle shortened again.

At best, there were only a few hours left for them to shift between forms for fun, and Hermione’s choppy growl let him know she’d worked up a hunger again. An urge to play, to hope others lose. A naughty look in her eye while enjoying Tom’s bones cracking back into place, and even as a man, he does so enjoy sucking blood off his hand. 

Hers, and Alecto’s, and his.

“Oh, love,” Hermione licked her chops, staggering naked and bloodied back up to her feet, “you shouldn’t fiddle with your nails. I’ve heard it’s a nasty habit.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed the fic, and I'd love to know if you did because I've definitely never written murdery werewolves getting frisky before, hah
> 
> -Bunny


End file.
